


a tale is the map that is the territory

by starkoholic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 03:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14761386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkoholic/pseuds/starkoholic
Summary: “I watched you die,” Thor says. The words are familiar, he’s said them before, but there’s no longer bitter anger behind them. It is merely a stated fact, now.“Yes,” Loki replies, his face giving nothing away.





	a tale is the map that is the territory

The throne room is vast, built to accommodate nearly all of Asgard’s population at the height of their civilization. Odin would host audiences of thousands from this seat—not just for the lavish feasts and banquets their people were known for, but for the mundane tasks that running a once-great empire entailed.

(Now, of course, the population of Asgard could fit into a Midgardian metro car, and still have empty seats left over).

Thor had never been intimidated by the throne itself. It was just a big, shiny chair, after all. What’s scary about a _chair?_ No, it had been everything else that came with the responsibility of ruling that had driven him from Asgard, sending him from one end of the galaxy to the other, until running was no longer an option. However, here in the empty halls, Hliðskjálf looms larger than it ever had before, gilded and ornate.

 _Just a big, shiny chair,_ Thor reminds himself, as he ascends the dais with a growing sense of unease.

Very few things exist in the universe that actually make him feel small, but as he takes a seat on the throne—just for a moment—he feels dwarfed by it. Thor grips the armrests, fingers curling over the edges. From here he can see the full spread of the room, the golden walls bare of the tapestries and murals he remembers from his youth.

Something isn’t right.

He had never actually sat here as king, officially; it was only the once during the confrontation with Hela, and he had not time then to take in the magnitude of it, too focused on drawing his mad sister’s attention. The throne, of course, no longer exists, having been reduced to dust along with the rest of the planet—on his orders. The only throne he had claimed had been the repurposed helmsman's seat on the Grandmaster’s ship liberated from Sakaar, and that too had been reduced to rubble when Thanos—

Wait.

Thor frowns. He glances around the dusty golden hall again. Blank walls. No ornaments, no murals. Even the original, bloodier tale of conquest that Odin had covered up with golden lies and Hela had revealed is replaced with nothing more than a black painted field overlain with silver stars. There is something wrong—this is not real.

 _This is not_ —

“Hello, brother.”

Thor’s sharp intake of breath echoes in whispers throughout the empty hall. He freezes, for a moment, before slowly, _slowly_ , turning his head, to see Loki emerge from behind a pillar and step forward into the light.

He looks—good, although anything would be an improvement over _dead_. Unconsciously, Thor’s eyes are drawn to Loki’s neck. The pale column of skin is unblemished, no bruises or marks or _anything_ to indicate that strangulation by a giant purple hand had ever occurred.

Thor looks around for something to throw, but finds nothing; he huffs in frustration, thwarted. Loki’s mouth quirks in amusement, briefly, before his expression smooths out again. Thor can only watch, somewhat helplessly, as Loki draws closer. He tilts his head back to keep eye contact as Loki climbs the steps and comes to a halt before him, just out of arm's reach.

“I watched you die,” Thor says. The words are familiar, he’s said them before, but there’s no longer bitter anger behind them. It is merely a stated fact, now.

“Yes,” Loki replies, his face giving nothing away.

Thor looks around the throne room again. “This is a dream,” he states.

“Yes,” Loki says again. His eyes glitter in the darkness.

“Yours or mine?”

Loki tilts his head. “Do you really want to know?”

“I suppose not.”

Loki smiles then, a sadness to his expression that is perhaps answer enough on its own. He steps closer then, within the spread of Thor’s legs, bringing a hand up to Thor’s face. Thor almost flinches, not out of fear but rather the sudden idea that Loki’s fingers will pass right through him. He cannot bear it, should this apparition vanish in a flash of green light like all of Loki’s illusions. Or even worse, if Loki’s touch were to wake him, ending the dream.

Loki hesitates, expression wavering. “Brother—” he starts, but Thor has already reached for him, wrapping both arms around Loki’s waist and drawing him in. He feels Loki startle in his embrace as he rests his head against Loki’s stomach and _breathes_. No matter that this place is not real, that Loki is _dead_ , for now he feels real and solid in Thor’s arms.

Loki’s hands hover over his shoulders for a moment, before he relaxes into the embrace, cradling Thor’s head to him. Thor feels his eye burn with unshed tears, and a muffled sob threatens to choke him.

“ _Loki_ ,” he gasps out, as Loki begins to run his hands gently, so gently, over the soft, short bristles at the base of Thor’s neck. It is a new sensation, not just because of his lack of hair, but because this is _Loki_. Loki, who has never offered a loving touch with one hand without a knife concealed in the other—even during their youth, before Thor had developed the reflex to expect some sort of trick from his brother first and foremost. Even now, he half expects this dream of his dead brother to cackle maniacally and stab him before running away.

Instead, Loki’s hands continue to stroke down his neck and shoulders, before coming to rest again on either side of his head, delicately cupping his jaw. The pads of Loki’s thumbs sweep gently over Thor’s cheekbones, and Thor realizes there’s a wetness on his cheek. He attempts to pull back, not out of shame, exactly, but the muddled tangle of his emotions is too much to parse while Loki’s hands are on him.

Loki allows him to withdraw only so far, though, keeping his hands on either side of Thor’s face. Thor finds he cannot look away from his steady gaze, so unlike any look he had ever received from him in life. It is an odd angle, looking up at his brother like this. They were nearly of a height for the majority of their lives, with only a scant bit of difference having given Thor the advantage. He finds he does not mind it so much, and smiles.

Loki raises an eyebrow at him. “And here I thought I was the one with mercurial moods,” and he swipes a thumb again over the last of Thor’s tears.

Thor chuckles. “It is...good to see you, Loki. Even if this is just a dream.”

“You of all beings should know not to discount a dream so readily, brother,” Loki murmurs softly.

“You aren’t really here,” he says, as he shifts his grip to Loki’s hips, holding him in place, even though Loki has made no move to try and escape his grasp. “Maybe you’ve escaped death again somehow, but you’re not _here.”_

Loki hums thoughtfully, long fingers playing gently with Thor’s ears. “It’s not as though you have any reason to take my word on it, but if it is any consolation, I really did die this time.”

That is no consolation whatsoever. Against his will, Thor’s face crumples slightly, another sob catching in his chest. Loki blinks down at him, alarmed. “You cannot still be surprised,” Thor mutters, the back of his neck heating, “that I would—that I _do_ mourn you—“

“I suppose not,” Loki sighs, sounding fond and exasperated in equal parts. He draws a breath in, as if to speak, but stays silent. Thor is grateful, because he has no idea what to say in his defense. That for all he had spent the better parts of the last decade grieving for his brother, losing him again still felt like someone had carved his heart out of his chest? That he had been selfish in asking Loki to go against his very nature and _stay_ , when he had known Loki would have been better off left on Sakaar, where he could build a life for himself free from Asgard—from _Thor—_

That he failed as a king in every single way possible, had brought nothing but death and ruin to his people within mere weeks of assuming what was left of the throne? Even his attempt at exacting revenge for the deaths of his people had failed. And now he is left with nothing.

He cannot begin to explain the depth of his grief and guilt and love to this ghost of a man who had personified all of Thor’s failings in one maddening form. Especially when said ghost had not stopped running soothing, careful hands over the back of Thor’s neck in a sweeping caress.

It is...incredibly distracting.

Thor feels his face heat again, this time with more than just embarrassment. In truth, this is not an abnormal reaction to Loki’s touch, just one that had been stifled, ignored, for far longer than Thor could admit, even to himself. And this is not Loki, Loki was _dead,_ Loki would have never touched him like this when he had lived, and perhaps that is why Thor allowed himself to slip, just a fraction, leaning into the touch and pressing his mouth against the sharp jut of Loki’s hip—

He hears a soft gasp from above him and Loki’s hands tighten on his neck, fingernails digging into his skin. Arousal slices through him, sharp and hot and sudden, and his cock is suddenly, achingly hard between his legs.

It’s too much, to use the image of his dead brother in such a manner. He ducks his face down, tries to pull away from the touch again, to put some distance between them, but Loki’s expression freezes him in place.

It is—well. Over the centuries, Thor had been the target of the wide range of his brother’s emotions. Envy, pride, resentment, rage, spite, joy, love—but he had never been the object of Loki’s _lust_. But now, this dream Loki gazes upon him with such ravenous intensity that it cannot be mistaken for anything else, and any plausible deniability is erased when Loki’s tongue darts out to wet his mouth and _Allfather preserve him_ , real or not Thor is never going to forget that sight for the rest of his life. His cock throbs, and he _aches_ with it.

“Loki—” he starts, ready to offer an explanation, or apology, something to stop this from going any further.

“Do not speak,” Loki commands, harshly, placing a thumb against Thor’s lower lip for emphasis. He holds Thor’s gaze for a moment longer, assessing.

Thor opens his mouth to object as Loki steps back, but his protest dies in his throat because Loki _drops to his knees_ , and if the sight of Loki licking his lips had overwhelmed him before, this will entirely undo him.

“Loki,” he says, more urgently. He needs to wake up, to get out of this dream before he does something unforgivable, _why can’t he wake up_ —

“Yes, brother?” Loki’s voice is tinged with laughter, a calculated coyness in the look he slants up at Thor through his lashes that would annoy him at any other time, but now just sends heat shooting through his veins. He closes his eyes in an effort to regain some composure, only to open them again as he feels Loki’s _mouth_ press against his hardened cock through the now extremely uncomfortable leather of his pants.

“I—brother—”

Loki mouths at him again, running slick lips over the strained fabric, never breaking eye contact. Thor can’t help it; a moan breaks free from deep within his chest. Loki tilts his head and grins against his cock, raising a teasing eyebrow. Thor closes his eyes again, this time in resignation.

“Please,” he whispers hoarsely, and it is all the permission Loki needs. Deft hands undo the fastenings of Thor’s pants with ease, and Thor barely has time to register the shock of air on his erection before it’s replaced with the slick, wet heat of Loki’s mouth.

He doesn’t spend any time teasing, which is a surprise and a relief in equal parts. Loki just grips the base of Thor’s cock and swallows him down with ease, a not inconsiderable feat that has Thor groaning again. Loki can’t take him completely, but he doesn’t stop until the head of Thor’s cock hits the back of his throat.

How strange it is, to see his prideful brother on his knees before him, his cheeks hollowed and his mouth stretched obscenely wide around Thor’s cock. Perhaps it is unworthy of him, to abuse Loki’s memory in such a way, but as Loki’s wicked tongue curls around the head of his dick, Thor finds he cannot bring himself to care. And, he thinks wildly, considering the number of times Loki had stabbed him over the years, not to mention the whole...be-spelling and banishing their father, stealing the tesseract, and then _dying_ , he feels like Loki probably owes him one.

He slouches down slightly further in the seat, spreading his legs wider as Loki begins to move. Thor is transfixed by the wet slide of his erection past Loki’s spit-slicked lips. He swallows a shout at the feeling of Loki’s tongue against his slit, lapping at the precum leaking there. Loki smiles as much as he can with his mouth so full, and Thor only has a moment to worry before he is actually shouting. Loki’s tongue has curled around him again, but it’s an unnatural movement, his tongue now lengthened and twisting itself around Thor’s cock. _Shapeshifter_. As impressed as he had been by his brother’s magic in their youth, he’d never quite appreciated it like _this_. Loki’s tongue slides back, retreating to its normal length, and Thor has to grip the armrests again to stop himself from just grabbing Loki by his hair and thrusting up, to fuck his throat until he comes.

Loki’s eyes flick upward, as if sensing Thor’s restraint. There’s a dare lurking in them, the same brand of mischief that had Loki egging him on in their boyhood, although now reframed in a wildly different context. Cautiously, still wary of any hidden knives should this be a trick, Thor reaches out and cards his hand through Loki’s thick, dark tresses. Loki hums in approval, the sound reverberating down the length of his cock and through his balls. Thor doesn’t thrust forward immediately, just keeps his hand curled heavy around the back of Loki’s neck as his brother runs his tongue along the underside of his length before sucking the head back into that burning hot mouth. Loki looks up at him again, and _oh_ , that irritated glare is pure Loki, the look he’s always given Thor when Thor hasn’t played along with his schemes.

Well, Thor had always been particularly bad at denying his little brother his fun. Thor raises his hips and thrusts once, shallowly, testing Loki’s pliancy. Loki moves with him, and they fall into a rhythm, a synchronicity in their movements that Thor had thought lost long before Loki’s death.

He’s not going to last for much longer like this. Loki’s mouth is sloppy, wet and tight around him, and his eyes keep sliding shut as if the pleasure of sucking his brother’s cock is too much to bear. He’s beautiful—always has been, but now, like this, Thor cannot take his eyes off of him. He tightens his grip on Loki’s neck, and inadvertently lets a small shock of lightning escape his fingertips.

Loki’s eyes fly open in surprise as a full body shudder racks his frame and lets out a wild moan that reverberates through Thor. They stare at each other for a moment, before Loki pulls off Thor’s cock with a pop.

“Do that again,” Loki pants harshly. “But if you fry my hair, I _will_ stab you.”

Thor laughs shakily and sets his hand back, carefully adjusting his grip to the base of Loki’s neck. “You mean you don’t want to match—” his retort is cut off in a grunt as Loki takes him back into his mouth. In retaliation, Thor sends another spark down the length of Loki’s spine, and he feels his brother tremble between his legs.

Lightning dances along Thor’s shoulders and down his arms, sparking along his body in arcs. Loki’s eyes follow the play of electricity with unrestrained hunger. He’s still sucking Thor’s dick with single-minded intensity, but now Thor can see him palming his own erection as well.

The thought of Loki being so turned on by lightning—by _Thor’s_ lightning—that he cannot help but touch himself is so intoxicating that it sends him over the edge. He barely has time to choke out a warning before his vision goes white and he’s coming, spilling hot and thick down Loki’s throat. Loki doesn’t let up for a moment, just swallows greedily until Thor slumps back against the throne, gasping for air and utterly spent.

Loki sits back as well. For all that he looks _ravished_ —his pale skin is flushed, his pupils blown and his mouth swollen and wet with spit and come—Loki also looks about ten seconds away from fleeing.

That, again, is familiar.

“Oh, come here,” Thor huffs. He doesn’t give Loki a chance to protest, just hauls him up to sprawl in Thor’s lap. They’re an ungainly tangle of limbs at first, before Loki rights himself and drapes his long limbs around Thor, looking as comfortable as if this had been his plan all along. He tosses his head back, their positions now reversed as Loki smirks down at him. The smug expression is rather offset by the fact that Thor can feel Loki’s erection, still hard against his stomach, and Thor grins.

With his arm wrapped around Loki’s waist, it’s easy to place a hand flat against the base of his spine. He pauses, taking a moment to remember the last time he electrocuted his brother. He recalls the Grandmaster saying something about how some people found the shocks of the obedience disks erotic, and for all the man had been a maniacal lunatic, perhaps he had been onto something, there.

Loki is squirming in his arms, grinding his hips down, impatient as always. “I won’t beg,” he hisses, teeth bared.

Thor smiles. “I know,” he murmurs, and his eye lights up as he sends sparks flying down his arm again.

Loki throws his head back and _keens_. He shakes apart in Thor’s arms, and Thor realizes with a rush of renewed arousal that Loki is coming, entirely untouched and his pants still laced tight. Thor would mock him for it had it not been one of the most erotic moments in his entire long life. Instead, he lets Loki bury his face against his neck, breathing in short, heavy gasps, and runs a soothing hand up and down his brother’s back. Slowly, slowly, the tension drains out of Loki until he is practically boneless and pliant against Thor.

He does not know how long they sit like this, wrapped in each other on the golden throne that had been the source of so much bitterness for them both. He turns his head to nuzzle at Loki’s temple, slowly coaxing him over until he can capture Loki’s mouth with his own. Loki resists at first, of course he does, but gives into the kiss with a harsh nip. They kiss for another small eternity, Thor chasing the taste of himself off of Loki’s lips until it’s just Loki, _Loki, Loki._

“I have so many things I wish I could have said to you,” Thor murmurs against his brother’s mouth.

Loki presses another kiss against Thor’s jaw. “You could say them now,” he whispers back.

“This is a still only a dream,” Thor repeats. “And you are still dead.”

Loki pulls back, giving him another flat, unamused look. “You are Frigga’s son as much as Odin’s, are you not? Did none of our mother’s lessons sink into that thick skull of yours?”

“And what lesson would that be, brother?”

“Dreams hold their own magic, as you ought to know well.”

Thor swallows back the rising emotion in his chest that feels uncomfortably like _hope._ True, he knows this lesson better than most, but his dreams of Ragnarok had been, well. Rather straightforward. Asgard in flames, death, destruction, the loss of all he knew. No matter that Ragnarok had taken place on his orders, a twist his dreams had _so_ helpfully failed to mention, the outcome had been the same. Surtur had risen, and Asgard had fallen.

So what the Hel kind of prophecy is _this_?

If he had only dreamt of Loki as he had been, Thor could more readily believe it as a sign of something more. Indeed, had any other of his fallen friends appeared in his dreams tonight, he might have thought of it all as more than just the product of a tired mind, grieving and alone. Heimdall, in particular, comes to the forefront of his mind; he mourns his best friend and most trusted confidante deeply, but his appearance in Thor’s visions often held greater cosmic significance beyond their personal bond.

But no, it is not just Loki—beloved and estranged, lost and found and lost again—but a Loki who is amenable to Thor’s deepest desires, who _reciprocates_. It cannot be more than a dream, cannot mean that Loki had wanted this— _would_ want this, should he somehow return—

If Thor attempts to ascribe any greater meaning to this dream beyond a twisted manifestation of his baser desires, surely he will go mad.

Loki sighs and brushes his fingertips over Thor’s brow in a soothing gesture, a wry twist to his mouth. “Even now, even here, you still don’t trust me.”

“It is not a matter of trust, Loki. A lie told in the name of good is still a lie,” Thor says, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You were—are— _were_ the god of lies, need I remind you.”

“What good does it do me to lie to you now, brother? I’m dead.”

Thor chuckles. “As long as I have known you, you have never needed a _reason_ to lie,” he says. Loki hums noncommittally, which is as close as he will get to conceding Thor’s point.

In lieu of an answer, Loki instead turns his gaze upward, towards the painted ceiling. Only when Thor follows suit does he realize it is no longer a simple field of stars. Nor is it either of the murals depicting the history of Asgard, real or false. Instead, he sees—

 _Five gleaming points of color shimmering in the dark_ —

 _The cliff where his father died, only now a shining city rests upon it; he knows it is Asgard rebuilt_ —

 _A courtyard built around a great, solid oak tree, with leaves of silver and sharp as knives_ —

 _Twin thrones, made not of stolen gold but of stone, set side by side and standing empty_ —

Thor blinks back tears, his head swimming. Could it truly mean that, just as he used to dream of Asgard up in flames night after night, one day he might see Asgard again, restored in splendor, and his brother at his side once more?

If it is all only a lie, it is both the kindest and most cruel lie his brother will ever have told him.

Loki leans in close, his lips brushing against the shell of Thor’s ear as he spoke. “I promise you, brother, the sun will shine on us again.”

The spell breaks. Thor wakes with a gasp. Outside, the sun is high in the morning sky, and he is alone.

**Author's Note:**

> eternally grateful to [mal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/malfaisant) for her invaluable help in wrangling this fic into coherency, the best lines are 100% her


End file.
